Riposte
by Elspeth.Davidson
Summary: Response fic to Val Evenstar's En Guarde. Crossover with everything and anything we care to bring up. Chapters alternated between authors. Shameless self-insertion, sarcasm, and improbable scenarios. If you enjoy this please R&R, suggestions welcome!
1. Catastrophe

**Riposte**_  
a challenge response fic_

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is in response (after a year and a half) to Val Evenstar's _En Guarde_, a crossover with basically all fandoms that we care to be fans of - and some of which we aren't. For the first chapter, please see **.net/s/3966573/1/En_Garde** (apparently I can't put links in stories).

Val: let's see if you can stick to the chapter titling scheme.

* * *

**Interlude: Another Small Insertion**

Elspeth stared at the screen, not so much in disbelief as in the hope that her brain could still interpret what her eyes saw. The sheer twistedness of her sister's latest fic had, in all probability, caused permanent neural damage. Swiveling her newly reclaimed office chair in what she hoped was a menacing manner, she faced the aforementioned sister and demanded, "You know this is a bad idea, right?"

Val, maintaining the nonchalance she'd possessed since eight and a half months prior to her birth, shrugged and took another sip of her beverage. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Ever typed 'why' in MATLAB?"

Val waved that one off, too. "Inconsequential. Irrelevant."

"You and Ben Barnes." This was a statement.

There was an infinitesimal second of absolute, knife-edged stillness ... and then Val growled. Growled, as in dog growl. "You even try and I'll rip your slimy head right off your ..."

Grinning a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat's, Elspeth turned back to her keyboard, singsonging softly, "Hott hott hott hott..."

A chance draft wafted through the room, filling it with the scent of the rich hot chocolate in Val's mug. Elspeth turned abruptly as it reached her nostrils.

"Is that _my _hot chocolate -" and caught sight of the empty packet on the desk; all the proof she needed. Her voice was sharp now; any kind of chocolate was an extremely tender point with her. "What the bleep, pardon my French - what the deleted makes you think you can take the _fabulous gourmet beep crossed out_ hot chocolate that Granny gave me last year? ... No," she raised a hand imperiously, as Val began to chide about language. "Don't answer. Just take the abuse."

* * *

**Chapter Two: Catastrophe**

Val Evenstar had thought about death before. Not really as something to be feared, but with a certain amount of detached curiosity. It would come when it came, she supposed, but she had entertained vague ideas of falling peacefully asleep on a tropical island beach with the waves singing in the distance. Or going out with a bang, in a high-intensity gunfight or spectacular martial arts display. Better still would be dying in defense of a friend - or possibly a stranger. "Greater love has no man than this," and all that.

She hadn't really considered getting crushed by a crashing starship. Which was what actually happened, seconds after the two sisters realized that they were in a very bad position. It came skidding over the ice field, metal shrieking as it was gouged by boulders, sparks fountaining off the sides as the sheer momentum of a thousand-tonne load carried it forward. Clearly out of control, it barreled straight towards them.

Technically, Val wasn't crushed. The razor-sharp shards of ice that the hull plowed up in front of it probably lent her a much quicker death, but an autopsy would have been ineffectual. There really wasn't much left, after the vapor cloud cleared.

* * *

Elspeth leaned back in her chair, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. Was this really the best way to go about it? It was painful to admit it, but the possibility existed that the plot would become much less exciting with only one protagonist.

It took a little more consideration before she sat forward again and lifted her fingers to the keys for a rewrite.

Ah, very well. Val could live. But she owed Elspeth. Bigtime.

* * *

_Very, very bad_ didn't even begin to describe the rolling horizon - and everything in front of it - that met their eyes. The doorway which they had burst out of was located in a noticeable absence of pine trees, snow, or lampposts. There were posts, all right, but they consisted of tarred wood, thick as tree trunks, from which ropes and canvas snapped and billowed in the energetic breeze.

More of the local attractions included wooden floors - decks, actually - various barrels and railings, an overabundance of moody, grey salt water, a complementary moody grey sky, and a motley assortment of dreadlocked, bandannaed, heavily made-up men. And women. Who hadn't noticed them yet, but very shortly would; and when they did, Val and Elspeth would have to think extremely fast.

Elspeth clearly recognized their location first. She indulged herself in another face-drop-into-hands, muttering, "Oh, hang."

Val took a little longer, but when the weasly man with the runaway eyeball and the mute with the parrot caught her attention, she was no more enthusiastic. "We're going to."

They took a few moments to observe a mutual stunned silence, before turning to the essential questions.

"Did you compensate for _everything_ in your calculations?"

"You were the one who built it - did _you _follow my concept drawings?"

"Did you get your position correct? The speed of light has _slowed_, you know."

"Ha. Not enough in less than a century to be significant."

An unsteady step that fell just short of a swagger caught their attention, and they turned as one to face the semi-schizophrenic captain. "Well, well, 'ello, ladies." He doffed a weatherbeaten hat and swept into a flamboyant bow. "Cap'n Jack Sparrow, _very_ much at your service."

Val took advantage of the bow to shift herself more upwind of him. This served the dual purpose of avoiding olfactory overload and placing herself in a better tactical position. Her vibrant older sister, thick auburn hair swinging in the wind, could garner the attention; that was fine with Val, as long as she got a piece of the action.

Sparrow was donning his hat again, with much aplomb. "This be th' pride o' me 'eart, me luvs, the _Black Pearl_. What be your business aboard 'er?"

"Ermm..." Els swallowed quite visibly, something that would never be shown in the movies. "Ah, yes. Lovely to make your acquaintaince, Captain Sparrow." She was attempting a British accent, and so far hadn't made a terrible botch of it. It still didn't sound quite right, though, but Val supposed that they could say she'd been out of the country for awhile. "My name is Elspeth Davidson, and this is my sister ... Valerie." Val shot her a loaded glance - it was *not* Valerie - but Els didn't bat an eye. "I suppose you might call us couriers - we have a private message for our cousin."

"Your cousin, is it? Who be this cousin?"

"Miss Elizabeth Swann," and Val barely suppressed a groan.

"And why d'ye think she be aboard this fine pirate vessel, lassie?"

"Oh, golly, I don't know - perhaps because she's a headstrong heroine with a penchant for pirate medallions? In the words of a ninja friend of mine, she's a more mannish version of Orlando Bloom."

"Arlando Bloom? An' just what man would be walking about with that name? Sounds like a bloomin' sissy to me." The mascaraed captain wobbled noticeably, putting too much mental focus into producing a very deliberate wink. "Bloomin' - it's a pun, savvy?"

"Right. Brilliant. Umm ..." Elspeth was clearly grasping at straws, ready to escape him and begin plotting in some nice, private area. "We'll just be finding Elizabeth. No-" she held up a hand to forestall any further comment from the unstable Sparrow. "We'll be quite alright." Grabbing Val's arm, she practically dragged her down into the hold. They arrived at the bottom of the ladder mostly unscathed by splinters, but - "Seven circles of hell!"

The hold was full of people. Women, to be exact. About nine thousand of them.

Val blinked, and blinked again. And, just for emphasis, she blinked a third time. The physical impossibilities of this situation were, simply put, mind-blowing. The hold was clearly full of women, but not uncomfortably so; it also quite clearly housed nine thousand or more occupants. Each of whom displayed extreme disinterest in the new arrivals.

Half of them were dressed in piratical garb, most of it shockingly clean, and the rest showcased breeches or elaborate colonial-era gowns. These very subtle clues set recognition patterns skittering in Val's brain, leading to one conclusion: "They're OCs."

A look of pure horror scrambled firmly onto Elspeth's face. "Bad."

"It's actually not terrible, you know - we blend in better."

"No. Bad." She grasped Val's elbow and propelled her into a corner already cramped by barrels, sinking into a tormented crouch. "Look. We need out. Now. I don't care what you have to do; I don't care what I have to do - well, mostly - but we need to _leave_. I can't deal with falsely glorified pirates; I can't work with ghosts; I can't do anything with a town's worth of eighteen-year-old women; I can't write in this universe and I'm having a lot of trouble varying my vocabulary right now. I don't care where we go; anywhere is better than here." She stopped abruptly and Val allowed herself a brief chuckle.

"You might regret saying that - I'm sure I can produce a situation worse than this."

"I dare you to."

Val made no verbal answer, but she was certain her eyes reflected a moment of wicked glee. "Okay," she said finally, as several OCs began a laboriously dramatic swordfight in the background, "it's time for MacGyver mode. Got any nail polish?"

* * *

After a horizontal rule to define the instantaneous passage of time, Wardrobe 2.1 was finally ready. Technically, it should be Barrel 2.1, but development cycle syntax dictated the older, more nostalgic title. Val, thoroughly detesting the marauding hordes of OCs now crying for either "Will" or "Jack, darling", engaged the makeshift battery. "It should warm up for a few minutes before we try it."

Els leaned her head back against a bulkhead, closing her eyes. "Wake me up when it's ready -" she stole a peek at the contraption, then suddenly jumped up and stamped out the small fire ignited by the circuitry. "It warmed up, all right." She took the battery offline. "There's too much resistance in these iron nails; we need more juice than's getting through - _ouch_!"

From the smell of burnt flesh, Val conjectured that the iron was also hot. "There's not much around here that's more conductive than iron, except ..." What was more conductive than iron? The idea hit them both simultaneously.

"No."

"Really bad."

"The one thing that everybody else in this story is after -"

"Assuming it's the first movie -"

"We are going to die."

"'Hell hath no fury' -"

"- like a woman robbed of a pirate medallion."

The hold fell utterly silent, eighteen thousand pairs of eyes skewering the two sisters with hostile stares. (That would be eight thousand eyes for Elspeth and ten thousand for Val. Val, being taller, naturally attracted more resentment.)

"Hey," Elspeth hissed.

"What?" Val whispered back from a fighting crouch, not turning to look at her.

"They're OC's. There's more than one medallion. Like the one that girl has around her neck. And that one. And that one."

"Point taken. Why am I in a fighting crouch? This is a wrestler's stance."

"It sounded good."

"Fine." Val shifted into a more mobile position. "I'll get a medallion. You keep the rest off my back."

Els abandoned her whisper. "What? No."

"You're higher ranked in TKD than me. And you've had Krav Maga. Therefore, you handle the crowd. Savvy?"

"You will pay for this."

Val didn't bother answering, closing with the nearest medallion-wearer. One scientific kick into the solar plexus, through a very weak guard, doubled the girl over. As she brought her elbow round to render the target unconscious, Val heard a shout beside her.

"It's the Kraken! All hands on deck!"

She wrenched the gold off the girl's neck, slamming it into place on Wardrobe 2.1, while most of the women in the hold fought to scramble up the ladder and prove their prowess as kraken bait.

Elspeth plugged in the battery, smirking. "No fighting skills required."

"I don't care - " and Val pushed her into the barrel, checked to make sure that she disappeared, and then wiggled in herself.

* * *

**Author's Note:** BAM! Your turn. Happy summer break. I will put in the address of your response here when you choose to write one.


	2. Game

**Author's Note:** Due to the lack of comments, I suppose Val and I are among the very few people enjoying this. It's okay. We don't mind taking up a few kBs of the internets. Of course, if you wanted to suggest a fandom or a scenario, you're completely welcome to!

* * *

**Interlude: The Requisite Insertion**

"No." Elspeth spun round in the computer chair to face her younger sister. "Absolutely not. You may not just start a chapter like this and leave it hanging for me to resolve."

Val let a provocative grin take up residence on her face. "Meaning you can't? You're stumped? The keyboard's getting to you?"

"Meaning that I refuse to get us out of this situation. You started it, you finish it." Els swung back to the keyboard and started typing. She was rewarded with a string of gibberish, sending Val into yet another fit of hysterical giggling. "No. No - just don't say anything." Taking a deep breath, she turned the laptop's microphone on. "Modern technology has an answer to this, too. Hal. Dictation." Technically, she didn't need to say the computer's name, but it was definitely cooler if she did. "And be quiet!" she hissed. "It's my chapter."

**Chapter Four: Game**

The X-Jet lifted off smoothly, Val at the controls. Rising swiftly, the sleek machine cut through the air, accelerating as it punched toward the clouds. "Whoo!" Val yelled into her headset, which muffled the roar of the engines. "Gonna take her supersonic!"

"Or maybe you won't!"

Both girls twisted at the sardonic yell, which had originated behind them - from Cyclops, who was standing next to the Joker. A still-smoking hole in the cabin ceiling laid to rest any questions about their manner of entry.

Elspeth rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Could you get any more cliché?" She started unclipping her seat harness.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

Val glanced over at Els. "Yes, it can get more cliché. You're wearing black leather."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" It was true; somewhere along the way they'd had a wardrobe change. Muttering under her breath, Elspeth freed herself from the last of the straps and stood.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, somebody's got to deal with them. Fly the plane."

_Oh, come on now, that's _really _cliché._

_My chapter, hush. Erm..._

There was a convenient space in the center of the cabin; Elspeth faced off with the two superhero/villains. The jet was still climbing steeply, forcing the men to look up the slanted floor at her. Eying her speculatively, the Joker began: "Want to know how I got these scars?"

Els cut him off with a laugh. "Not really. Looks like you've put on a little extra poundage since the movie - need to lose some _weight_?" She kicked the back of Val's seat for emphasis.

Val, taking the cue, brought the jet level, arcing the top of a sharp curve and sending them all weightless. The Joker giggled himself into a state of paralysis at the pun, leaving Elspeth free to launch herself from the seat back, flying straight at Cyclops. Catching him about the middle, her momentum drove him into the rear bulkhead - winding him, she hoped. The only problem was that his glasses slipped down onto his nose, letting loose a beam of red light that obliterated yet another portion of the fuselage.

This was bad. The X-Jet was well on its way to becoming a piece of Swiss cheese, and physics didn't like flying Swiss cheeses.

"Hey, Val?" Els yelled, grappling with Cyclops in an attempt to push his glasses back up where they belonged, "Get over here! We need to end this fast!" Normal acceleration was reclaiming them, but Val seemed somewhat reluctant to join her.

"I have to fly this plane!"

"We have a new pilot! Get out of the chair!"

"_What?_"

"Just do it!"

Val left her seat suspiciously, but there wasn't any need to worry. A very recognizable pilot with a somewhat eighties haircut took her place. "Ma'am, I've got this bird under control."

However, Val was still looking at him as if she were contemplating a cross between a cockroach and a plate of week-old fried squid leftovers. "Do I know you?"

"Maverick. That'd be _Top Gun_, ma'am." He winked at her. It didn't have much effect.

"Just fly the plane," she snapped, and headed for the Joker - which was when all hell broke loose.

Thinking about it later, Elspeth realized that -

* * *

"Hey, hey, just a minute." Val shook her head in disbelief. "_Thinking about it later?_"

"Sure. It's a subtle but effective method of recording a character's thoughts on a situation that they are much too busy, in the moment of the event, to actually think about."

"It also gives away the fact that they get out of it!"

"Exactly. So now we know that I survive." It was Elspeth's turn for the trump card grin. "The question is, do you? I'd suggest not interrupting for the remainder of the chapter."

"You owe me a milkshake."

"_What?_" This was off-topic and extremely confusing.

"You owe me a milkshake."

Elspeth closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Why do I owe you a milkshake?"

"I don't know yet. But at some point, you will end up owing me a milkshake."

"We'll see about that." Extremely weak comeback, she knew, but she had more important things to do right now.

* * *

Thinking about it later, Elspeth realized that it wasn't really hell breaking loose, but more like an amusement park ride doing a very poor imitation of hell, with the "amusement" and "park" parts taken out. It was her mistake, really. Putting Maverick at the controls of her baby (she was beginning to think of the X-Jet extremely possessively) was all the invitation he needed to begin a series of twisting, looping, stomach-churning, bruising, and often-negative-g manuvers. Combine that with the fact that the four combatants in the cabin lacked seatbelts and, indeed, seats, and there was suddenly an explanation for the bodies that began slamming into the walls.

"Maver-!" Els was cut off by a particularly hard collision with Cyclops' skull. Grey haze pounced onto the edges of her vision, hesitated for a moment, and then swarmed towards the center.

This was bad. Should have gotten an Air Force One pilot.


End file.
